Things Change, Feelings Don't
by Lambogod
Summary: Things are changing. And for Helga, change is bad...
1. Tragedy and Triumph

_It's funny, you know? I've spent, what, two-thirds of my life on this guy. And for what? To have him leave me. To have him pack up, say his quick goodbyes, and leave, all in the space of a day. He said he was alone, and that he needed to leave to get himself together. _

He wouldn't have had to be alone, though. 

You see, I told him. I actually, honestly, told him. But in the end, it didn't seem to matter to him. He still left. Left me. 

I was at home, watching television with Big Bob. The only "family ritual" I could tolerate, of course. ... 

"Hey Olga, you wanna watch this? I'm going to bed." 

I rolled my eyes. "It's Helga, and yeah, leave it on." 

Bob groaned his way to his feet and up the stairs. I looked over and saw Miriam laying on the sofa. 

"You going to bed, too, Mom?" I asked. 

She mumbled something about a puppy or something and rolled over, onto the floor. She landed with a thud that betrayed her small frame. But she didn't wake up. 

"Geez." 

Just then, the phone rang. It was late--like, eleven 'o clock--so I was none too thrilled to answer the phone. It was Phoebe. 

"Helga, sorry for calling so late, but I've got some bad news." 

I yawned. "What's wrong, Pheebs?" 

"It's Arnold's grandpa. He just died this evening." 

I didn't move an inch. My eyes went out of focus for a minute, then centered in on a fly that had just landed on the wall next to me. I smashed it. 

"That's . . . wow . . . I mean . . ." 

"It's so sad, isn't it?" Phoebe answered disdainfully. "I mean, who's Arnold going to live with now? This is horrible, isn't it? I mean, his grandma just died a month ago, too. He doesn't have any living relatives--at least, I don't think he does." 

I continued staring at the fly entrails that were smeared on the white wall next to me. It represented something to me. But I don't know what it was. 

"Pheebs . . . can I call him?" 

She was silent a moment, then answered quietly, "Maybe you should. I think he's heard from everyone else." 

"So why am I the last to know?" I asked, peeved that I should be left out on such important information. I mean, just because I treated the kid like dirt didn't mean I didn't care about him. 

Phoebe was silent a moment longer. "I guess . . . nobody figured you'd want to know." 

I could've slapped her right then, best friend or not. She was one of three or four people on the planet who knew of my true feelings for Arnold, so she should've known darn well that I'd want to know. 

"I'll call him now. See you tomorrow," I said, keeping my tone uncharacteristically neutral on purpose, to drive home the point that I was pretty pissed off at her. She mumbled an apology of some kind and hung up. 

I dialed his number. I'd rarely called it in the past, but I've had it memorized since I was in the first grade. It rang on his end five times before the machine picked up. 

"Thank you for calling the Sunset Arms Boarding House. We are not able to take your call at this time, but if you leave..." 

I hung up, disgusted. Disgusted with him, for not answering the stupid phone. Disgusted with his grandparents, for dying and leaving him all alone. And disgusted with myself, for treating him like crap for his entire life. 

I walked upstairs silently. I opened my door, and stared as the light from the hall illuminated my bed. I wasn't tired. I didn't feel like writing, either. So I decided to go for a walk. 

My walk just happened to lead me past the Sunset Arms Boarding House. Fancy that. I was scared. Out of my mind, actually. Here I was, at 11:34 P.M., standing in front of Arnold's house, ringing the doorbell. I was nuts. 

I'd been alive for fourteen years at that point. I was in eighth grade. While most girls my age were maturing into young ladies and making changes to attract members of the opposite sex, I was doing my best to annoy everyone and keep my feelings for the boy I loved a secret to the world. 

This was uncharacteristically caring of me. He would be surprised. 

He opened the door. His eyes were red. I wanted to throw my arms around him, but I held back. I shouldn't have, though. He looked like he would've hugged anyone at that point. 

"Hey Ar-Arnold..." I stuttered pathetically. "Can I come in a minute?" 

He gave me the strangest look. He was dumbfounded. 

"Sure," he answered after a moment. He stepped aside and motioned for me to come in. Despite his urging, it was still a real struggle to step over that threshold, into the house I'd infiltrated several times in the past. Those times had all been covert, though. This was the real deal. 

He lead me into the living room where I sat down next to him on the sofa. He looked at me warily, as if expecting me to hurl some inappropriate insult at him at any minute. I frowned back at him. 

"Do you wanna talk?" I asked, trying to force my tone to sound more concerned than necessary, to break whatever boundaries were still in place between us. He seemed to soften a little, and nodded. 

"Thanks for coming," was all he said, before he burst into tears and threw himself into my arms. I held him for what felt like an eternity. But love struck idiots always say things like that. It was only about five minutes. 

I held his hand as he began to speak. "He was sick, you know. But it wasn't supposed to be serious. Just the flu, right? That's what the doctor said. He didn't even prescribe medicine for him. Idiot probably graduated lowest in his class . . ." 

I just nodded occasionally, whenever it was appropriate. 

"Anyway, he was coughing really bad this afternoon, so I called the doctor again. Idiot said that he should drink some orange juice and get some sleep. So I told him to, and then he never woke up. I mean, he said 'G'night short man' and he freaking never woke up!" 

I squeezed his hand tighter, and he did the same to mine. 

"Helga, thanks. For, you know, coming. I was surprised to see you." 

Now was my chance. I might never have gotten the courage to do it again. "I figured you would be." 

Not exactly the best thing to say. "I didn't even know you knew." 

I just needed to come out with it. And hopefully, he'd find some comfort in the fact that I . . . 

"Yeah, Phoebe called me around eleven. I wanted to see how you were holding up." 

I was struggling. I needed to do something to force myself to level with him. I put my arm around him. 

"Arnold, I want you to know something. . . . If-if you ever . . . you know, need to talk to someone, I'll . . . I'm only a few blocks away. And you can call me whenever you want." 

He smiled at me. It was the most sincere smile I had ever seen. "Thanks, Helga." 

I hesitated a moment, then, with courage I didn't know I possessed, I leaned in and kissed him briefly on the lips. As I pulled away, I saw the expression on his face was one of mixed confusion and surprise. I guess it could've been worse, though. He could've looked disgusted. 

"Sorry," I mumbled, turning about as red as I'd ever turned before in my life. 

He swallowed. "For what?" he asked, smiling a little at me. "It helps to know that you'll be there for me." 

I was slightly disappointed that he didn't read the kiss as more than sealing of my friendship, but then again, it wasn't like it was the first time I'd kissed him. So he probably wasn't as shocked as I figured he'd be. 

I stood up slowly, and Arnold did as well. "Will you call me tomorrow, when you get up? I'd like to get together." 

Arnold had just asked me to call him. He was interested in spending time with me. Even though I figured he was just latching on to me because I was the first person he'd seen, I was still happy. 

"Sure thing, Arnold. Eleven 'o clock sound good?" 

"Yeah, that sounds great." 

I left that night a better person than when I'd come. And even though there was a long, painful road ahead of me, I felt at peace in spite of myself. 

I was no stranger to pain. But I didn't welcome it. And I wouldn't in the coming weeks, as more pain than I could ever imagine was dumped on me. But that which doesn't kill us makes us stronger, right? 

I find that hard to believe.


	2. Just a Walk in the Park...

__

It was the longest eleven hours of my life. I couldn't sleep, so I just sat by the phone all night and all morning. Literally, I waited right next to the phone, like a stalker, waiting for eleven 'o clock to roll around. And when it finally did, I almost wimped out. 

It wouldn't have been the first time I'd wimped out with him. But this time was the most important of all my past experiences with Arnold. He needed to know. I needed to let him know. 

"Hello?" 

"Yeah, hi Arnold. This is Helga. Did you still wanna do something this afternoon?" 

For some reason, he was silent for a really long time. When he finally did speak, he chuckled a little. "Yeah, can you meet me here? I thought we'd go to the park." 

I was losing my nerve. That was almost too much like a date for me to handle. "Um...sure. But why were you laughing?" 

"When?" he asked. 

I sighed, for some reason feeling like the biggest idiot on the face of the earth. "Just a minute ago. You got all quiet and then you started laughing." 

He was quiet for another moment, then: "It was nothing." 

I was starting to get a little bit mad, as I'm prone to do now and then. I squeezed the phone cord and lowered my voice. "Tell me, please. I feel stupid enough as it is." 

He sighed. "It wasn't anything, Helga. Honest. I-I don't even remember laughing." 

I decided to drop it. I was probably hearing things. I mean, I was nervous enough to. So I agreed to meet him at his house in ten minutes. As I walked out of my room, I realized I had forgotten my bow. I grabbed it off my dresser and set it up in my hair, just like I'd done every day since preschool. Yeah, I was way too old to be wearing a pink bow in my hair. But I, of course, didn't care. It was for _him_. Everything I did was for _him_. 

He smiled weakly at me as he stepped off the front porch and down to the sidewalk. It was hot. I mean, it was _hot_. He was wearing a white t-shirt and shorts, and I was wearing the same. I was kind of embarrassed to be dressed so similarly to him. I mean, isn't that what boyfriends and girlfriends do? Some sort of cute...togetherness...thing... Or whatever. 

"You don't mind going to the park, do you?" he asked, not exactly looking at me, but sort of . . ._through_ me. 

I shook my head. "Why would I mind? The park's as good a place as any to talk, isn't it?" 

He just nodded. I realized that I sounded a little gruff. I made a mental note to lighten my tone of voice to something a little more girlish. 

We walked in silence, the only sounds coming from his sandals flopping on the ground. They were too big for him. Way too big for him. I stared at them as we walked. 

As we walked, I started thinking. Actually, it was more like I was having a mental debate with myself. I started wondering whether my intentions were pure in this situation. I mean, was I just taking advantage of the fact that he was hurting and lonely so I could coerce him into developing bogus feelings for me? I'd like to think that I'm not capable of something like that, but I know I am. 

Before I could start the second round of my own personal counseling session, we were there. Arnold motioned that we should head over by the cluster of trees toward the back of the park. I didn't see why not, so we continued. And he finally started talking. Leave it to Arnold to break the ice in style, too. 

"My whole life sucks. You know that?" 

I raised my eyebrows. Arnold was typically optimistic to a fault. This was a new one. 

"I know how you feel," I answered, then immediately wished I had said something else. A hurt look flashed across his face as he stopped and turn to stare at me. 

"Tell me, Helga, when was the last time _your_ grandparents died? Or maybe your parents?" 

I held my hands up in defense. "Relax, Arnold! I just meant that I sympathize with you. I . . . . . ." 

He must have realized he was jumping all over my case without reason, because he looked at me apologetically. "You what?" 

I swallowed, hard. I wasn't about to show any more emotion than necessary around him. Not yet, anyway. "I wouldn't know what it feels like to have a . . . caring family. You were lucky that you got to experience that, if only for the time you had." 

He looked me a moment longer, then sighed. "Sorry, Helga." 

Just like Arnold to apologize when he hadn't done anything wrong. I wanted to hug him. 

"You don't have anything to be sorry for." 

We started walking again. My thoughts were racing at a mile a minute. No, two miles a minute. I was going over every possibility in my mind. Like, if I told him how I felt now, would it make the walk to the trees awkward? And if I waited until we got to the trees, would he just use the fact that we were standing still to clam up and not say anything? And what if World War III started just as I was about to confess my undying affection for him? Would I have a chance to say 'I love you' before the nuke vaporized the city? 

"I don't know what I'm going to do now," he said, so quietly I almost didn't hear him. 

"What do you mean?" I asked, glancing at him out of the corner of my eye. 

"I'm pretty sure all the borders are leaving. I'm in Susie's care temporarily, but she can't afford another mouth to feed. They're bound to put me up for adoption eventually." 

At that moment, I began to realize just what exactly had happened. Arnold's grandparents were dead. They were no longer around to take care of him. He might have to leave, maybe even live far away from me. 

All that made my desire to tell him my feelings seem pretty insignificant. 

"I . . . I don't know, Arnold." He was looking at me, but I kept my eyes glued to the ground. I was shocked. Shocked at the situation, shocked that he might be leaving, shocked that I was about to start crying, and shocked that there was absolutely nothing I could say or do that could take all his pain away. I was an idiot for even thinking that _my_ love would make a difference. In the grand scheme of things, I was nothing. Just some mean blonde girl who called him football head. 

We stopped under the shade of the trees. It was still really, really hot. He sat down, and I joined him, albeit a little nervously. I tasted blood, and realized I had been biting my lip to stop myself from crying. He noticed the blood and offered me some antiseptic cream or something. 

"No thanks." 

It was really quiet. I mean, no sound. No birds, no cars, no people. Just the two of us. Whether that silence was just in my head or not, I'm not sure. I had to say something. 

"Arnold, I . . ." 

He glanced at me out of the corner of his eye. "You what?" 

"There's been something that I've been meaning to tell you for a long time. And . . . well . . . in light of everything that's happened . . . I just don't know if I should." 

He chuckled. Again, that same chuckle I heard on the phone. It made me mad--it felt like he wasn't taking me seriously. 

"Why are you laughing?" I demanded, trying not to sound mean. 

He sighed and stopped laughing. "I know what you've been meaning to tell me," he said, a strange look coming over his face. I couldn't quite place it . . . it wasn't happy, but it wasn't . . . 

"You-you do?" I asked, tired of not being able to talk to him seriously without stuttering. 

"Yeah, I've known for years." 

I was dumbfounded. He knew? 

"Yeah, you've always hated my guts, and you're just being nice to me now because you feel guilty for treating me like crap for ten years." 

My face fell. Seriously, I could feel it fall. It hurt. 

"What are you talking about, Football Head? Why should I feel guilty?!" 

Uh oh. There goes my congeniality. 

"Admit it, Helga. Just come out and say that you hate my guts, and it'll be over. Alright? Because quite honestly I'm sick of all your crap." 

I tried to stop myself, but I couldn't. I slapped him in the face, hard. He looked up at me, a red hand mark on his face. 

He stood up, turned from me, and walked away. Didn't even glance back over his shoulder. Probably didn't even think about looking back. 

He hadn't deserved that. He was a good guy. He was right to have doubts about my intentions. I would, too. But once again, I had proven how uncontrollable Helga G. Pataki is. And I had nothing to lose for it but the love of my life.


	3. A Way Out

_You know, sometimes life gets to the point where you're just absolutely positive that it can't get worse. Everything that could possibly go wrong goes wrong, and everybody and their dog hates you. Then, just as you settle into the fact that you are a worthless scab on the backside of creation, something else happens to deepen the scar._

"Helga, honey, your dad is opening his new beeper emporium in a month. You knew that, right?" 

Miriam was stoned out of her mind. Or maybe she was just drunk. I couldn't tell. But at least she was speaking in complete sentences. 

"No, Miriam, I didn't. What does that have to do with anything?" I scowled at her, and she smiled in return. 

"Oh, honey, why didn't you tell her?" she moaned, laying her head down on the table. 

"I forgot! Sue me!" he shouted from the next room, where he had been captivated by the Stars of Fishing marathon for the past four hours. 

"Forgot to tell me what, Miriam?! Criminey, I don't have all day!" 

She looked up at me through half-lidded eyes. "Oh . . . right. We're moving at the end of the month. To . . ." She started to doze, but snapped back to consciousness. "The South side." 

My mouth fell open. That was on the complete opposite side of the city! I wasn't ready for this. Too much had happened recently. 

"So what, you're telling me I'll have to start at a new school, make new friends, what are you saying?" 

But Miriam was in never-never land, downing all the 12.5% alcohol-content beverages she could handle. I sat in silence. I shut my eyes. His face appeared, like it always did. I tried to smile, but I couldn't. 

I called Phoebe that afternoon. "Well, Helga, just because you won't be in the same school as the rest of us doesn't mean we won't still be friends. It'll just be a longer drive to see you, that's all." 

"Let's just drop this subject, Pheebs. I'm sick of talking about it." 

"Dropping," she said. I had her trained like a Saint Bernard. 

I wasn't sure what I should talk about next, so Phoebe jumped in with a new random topic. "So, what did you and Arnold talk about yesterday?" 

Ha, there was a good one. We didn't talk much at all. I just tried to share my deepest feelings with him and ended up slapping him across his adorable face. 

"I . . . don't really wanna talk about it," I said, biting nervously at a fingernail. 

"Helga, I think you do. You can't fool me." Good old Phoebe. Can't pull anything over her eyes. 

I twiddled my thumbs for a moment, then sighed. "Fine, you win. He hates me." 

"What, you didn't try to tell him . . .?" She sounded shocked. 

I laughed quietly, bitterly. "Oh, I tried alright. But he wouldn't listen. He just kept saying how he knows that I've always hated him, and that I was just being nice to him now because I felt bad for him." 

Phoebe didn't respond. I thought I might have lost the connection. "Phoebe?" 

"I'm here. I'm just . . . surprised. I mean, he's usually so understanding. But I guess he's been through a lot recently, huh?" 

"Yeah. But did I tell you I kissed him, at his house the other night?" 

"No, you didn't tell me that. You did?!" 

I laughed again, not as bitterly this time. "Yeah. He probably just took it as me trying to buy salvation or something. He didn't return it or anything." 

Phoebe sighed. At least _she_ felt bad for me. "I can see why you're upset. Did anything else happen?" 

I paused. I wasn't sure I wanted to admit this. But I decided that if you can't admit something to your best friend, it probably never happened in the first place. 

"Well, when he was accusing me of hating him and trying to buy his forgiveness, I got really mad. I didn't mean to, I just did. And I slapped him." 

"Really?! How hard?" 

"Hard." 

She was thoughtful for a moment, then: "You need to apologize, you know." 

I didn't say anything. 

"He didn't deserve that. You need to realize that you're reaping what you sowed. You treated him like dirt, and now he's turning it back on you. You need to go and make it right." 

She was right. But I wouldn't admit it. "Whatever, Pheebs. Look, I gotta go. I'll see you later." 

"Okay. Bye." 

I walked outside, not entirely sure of what I was going to do. Things were happening really fast. I didn't want to move. I didn't want Arnold to leave me. I didn't want to slap him, or hurt him in any way. I didn't want to apologize. But I knew I had to. 

I took another walk, and once again found myself at Sunset Arms. Another striking coincidence. 

I knocked a couple times and waited. Nothing. So I tried the door. It opened without a problem. 

The place was quiet. I figured everyone was out, probably working or something. But Arnold wouldn't have any reason to be gone, so I figured he was just upstairs. I pulled down the staircase leading to his room and climbed quietly, hoping that I wouldn't be caught. And hoping that I _would_ be caught and someone would stop me from doing what I had to do. 

No one stopped me. And no one would've caught me if I had passed out, which I nearly did. There was Arnold, laying on his bed, an empty bottle of Tylenol next to him. 

Everything after that was a blur, until I found myself in the back of an ambulance, holding his hand as they rushed him to the hospital. His face had started to turn blue at one point, but they started him on an IV, and things sort of improved from there. He was breathing really shallowly, though, and he was still awfully pale. I had never prayed before, but I did then. I prayed that, if anyone was listening, Arnold would be as good as new. That he would then fall madly in love with me, and that we would be married and have two point five kids and live in a small suburban neighborhood with a nice house with a picket fence and nice neighbors with children for our kids to play with and nice jobs and a white refrigerator and a toaster and a microwave . . . 

I was bawling. I was bawling my eyes out. I was so scared, and I guess I'd had a lot bottled up over the past couple of days. The nurse that was back there with us put her hand on my shoulder and told me everything would be alright. But I didn't believe her. She was just saying that, because that's what she was expected to say. "Everything will be alright." Sure. I mean, that's not the love of _your_ life laying there, dying slowly before your eyes. You're not attached. You're just doing your job. Your stupid, moronic job. 

At the hospital they wheeled him into the emergency room, and I wasn't allowed to follow. So I called Big Bob and told him to come pick me up in an hour. He wasn't in the least bit curious as to why I was at the hospital. Not that I expected him to be. 

The doctor came out about forty-five minutes later. "Helga?" 

"Yes?" I asked, standing up. "Is he alright?" 

The doctor sighed. "Yes, he's stabilized. We're working on getting all the poison out of his system. He's going to be in recovery for a day or two. Are you his sister?" 

I shook my head. "Just a friend." I'd never described Arnold as that before. I was surprised. 

"Well, come and see him tomorrow. That'll be good for him. We'll be talking to a counselor soon, too. He needs professional help." 

I nodded. "I know the perfect one. Doctor Bliss. She has an office in the area." 

He smiled. "Yes. She's my sister-in-law. That's just who I was going to recommend." 

I turned around and started to walk away, but stopped. "He won't be able to pay, you know. He's orphaned." 

"He's covered. We won't dump anything else on him now. He can't handle it at this point." 

I nodded slowly, then continued out to Big Bob's car, which was parked illegally in the ambulance zone. 

As I rode home that evening, I couldn't help but wonder... Was it me who had pushed him over the edge? And if it was me...... 

Could I live with myself?


	4. Detachment

_I hated myself. Beyond the shadow of a doubt, I hated myself. I despised my very existence. I was positive that it was because of me that he had done what he did. I had myself convinced. Phoebe wasn't sure, though. She kept getting at me to call him, find out what happened, apologize for what I did. Maybe even tell him how I feel... _

Of course, my feelings meant very little at that point. I was growing numb--I couldn't feel anything anymore. With the obvious exception of self-hatred, that is. 

"Hello?" It was Susie. Thank goodness it wasn't Oskar. That guy has got to be the biggest idiot on the face of the planet. 

"Yeah, hi, this is Helga Pataki. Can I speak with Arnold, please?" 

"Oh, um, h-hang on a second." She set the phone down, and I could hear her walking away. The television was on in the background, and it sounded like Oskar was talking to it. I couldn't make out what he was saying, though. 

"Yeah, hi, Helga? He's not here right now." 

I sighed. "Oh. Okay. Um, could you ask him to call me when he gets in? He has my number. It's in the school directory." 

There was an awkward pause. "Oh, sure hon. I'll let him know. Bye." 

I hung up. I was disappointed, yet, at the same time, relieved. I wanted--no, _needed_--to talk to him, but I was terrified of what might be said. I didn't want to find out that it _was_ me who pushed him over the edge. I didn't want him to hate me. 

From the burnt smell coming from downstairs, I guessed it was supper time. I washed my hands, and as I did, I looked at my dad's razor, which was laying on top of the sink. It was just a passing thought, but a thought all the same. 

"Yeah, is Arnold there?" I asked, exasperated. It was only the fifth time I'd called in two days. I was eager to hear what lame excuse would be thrown at me today. 

"Oh, yes, little girl. Um...no, he's sleeping. I mean, yes, he's here, but he's sleeping. Right over there on the couch. He's so cute when he's sleeping, he looks just like a baby bird. Heh heh heh!" 

I couldn't stand talking to this guy. "Fine. Just have him call me. _Please_." 

"Sure thing little girl. Bye." 

He was avoiding me. There was no way around it. He was talking to Jarold, to Sid, heck, even to Phoebe, the day before. But he was refusing to even acknowledge me. 

I rarely take things lying down. I mean, love of my life or not, I don't take rejection well. And while I wasn't about to plan some sort of sick revenge against him or anything, I had to get things resolved between us as soon as possible. 

So I did was I was getting very accustomed to doing lately--I snuck out at night and went to the boarding house. 

The walk there was surprisingly cold, especially considering Autumn was still a month away. I was wearing a dark-colored t-shirt and khakis, and I didn't stick out very much at all. That was good, because what I was planning would require me to be absolutley invisible. 

I reached the fire escape that led up to the roof of the building. It was huge and menacing that late at night, let me tell you. The rungs were all slippery, too, as it had just stopped raining an hour or so ago. With determination that I didn't know I had, I started to climb. 

As I climbed, I began to wonder at my stupidity. Why didn't I just come here during the daytime, and ask to see him then? But I could come up with only one answer for that question: he would never see me. No, I needed to get to him when he was vulnerable and unable to escape. And 12:30 AM was the perfect time for that. 

He wasn't in Susie's bedroom. And since it was only a one-bedroom apartment, I assumed that he was sleeping up in his own room. I mean, why wouldn't he? 

There he was, lying silently in his bed. The first thing I noticed was that he was wide awake, simply staring through the sunroof. Then I noticed that he wasn't moving an inch. It didn't even look like he was breathing. Without any further ado, I lifted the window open and jumped into his room. 

Well, he was fine, since he leapt two feet in the air and fell off his bed. He fumbled around in his blankets and finally managed to reach the lightswitch. He flicked it on. 

"Hi Arnold," I said, amused in spite of the situation. 

He was shocked, but somewhat relieved that it was me and not some psychotic killer. "What are you doing here, Helga?" he asked, his fists clenched at his sides. 

I gulped. Here I was, and I had no idea where to begin. 

"I-I need to talk to you. And you haven't been returning my calls, so I figured you were just, like, avoiding me or something. So I figured I'd come at night so you couldn't avoid seeing me." 

That all spilled out pretty well. But he wasn't taken in so easily. 

"Get out." 

Nope, this definitely wasn't going to be easy. I took a step toward him. 

"No, Arnold. I-I need to talk to you. Things are crazy. I mean, first your grandparents die, then I find out we're moving, then you try and kill yourself, I mean . . . I don't know how much more I can take!" 

He looked at me through half-lidded eyes. "Neither did I." 

He walked to his bed and began to remake it, throwing his comforter to the side as he flung his white sheet over the mattress. Then he turned and sat down, resting his head on his right hand. 

"What did you want to talk about?" 

I nodded slightly to myself, then walked over and sat next to him. I wasn't going to beat around the bush, I decided. I would ask, and that would be the end of my inner wondering. 

"Was it me, Arnold? Did I...you know, push you over the edge?" 

There, that wasn't so hard. 

He sat there for a long time. First he looked at his feet, then straight ahead, then at the stars, then straight ahead again. Finally, he glanced off to the side and said, "No." 

I was relieved for a split second, but then I realized he probably wouldn't want to come out and tell me the truth, especially a truth like that. 

"Arnold, I want you to tell me the truth," I said, putting my hand on his leg. "Did I cause you to...do that?" 

He didn't say anything again, but began picking at a fingernail. Everything around us seemed to fade away, as I watched him sitting there, picking at his fingernail. He was so detached, so distant. He seemed completely withdrawn, if not from everything, then at least from me. I wanted to hold him, but I didn't dare. He was too hurt and delicate at this point. 

"It wasn't you. You were just one more thing piled on top of everything else that had gone wrong." 

I had been focusing so much that I almost missed what he said. I made sure I had it all straight in my mind, then I replied. 

"But I was the thing that pushed you over the edge? I mean, when I slapped you?" 

He laughed again, quietly, not bitterly like he had that day, but distantly. "I had hoped . . ." He trailed off. 

"You had hoped what?" I urged, looking him in the eye. 

"I had hoped you would change my mind. That day, I mean. That's why I wanted to go to the park with you. I hoped that you would say or do something that would make me decide not to do it." 

I was shocked. I could have prevented it. Instead, I had just added fuel to the fire. 

"I-I'm...sorry, Arnold," I nearly moaned, struggling not to cry. I wasn't acting like myself, and even though he had seen me the way no one else had, I still struggled with showing emotion around him. 

But I was right. I _had_ been the cause. Indirectly, maybe, but I was still the cause. And I hated myself even more. 

With that, he turned and reclined on the bed, stretching his legs out all the way. "Don't worry about it. I'm not exactly worth worrying about." 

"What do you mean, you're not worth worrying about?!" I exclaimed. "You're probably one of the greatest guys on the planet! You're always worried about other people, you're always helping everyone out, giving advice, putting up with jerks like me! I mean, I'm amazed by you sometimes, Arnold!" 

Wow, that was more than I had intended to say. Oh well, at least it impacted him a little. 

"You-you really think so?" he asked, clearly not quite believing it himself. 

"Y-yeah. I do." 

I wasn't sure if I was seeing things, but I could've sworn he smiled at me. But just as quickly as it might have appeared, it was gone. 

"You'd better get home," he said. "I'll talk to you later." 

"Will you really?" I asked. 

"Yeah, sure." 

The living room light was on when I came in the door. Big Bob was sitting in his recliner, watching television. Actually, he was staring at the blank screen, which was trying to tell him that the station he was currently tuned to was down for the night. But he sat and stared just the same. 

"'Bout time you got home, Olga," he growled, standing up groggily and stumbling towards me. "Where the heck did you think you were going so late?" 

"Not like it's any of your business, _Bob_, but I was at Arnold's." 

He was drunk. He didn't get drunk often, but when he did, he was actually kind of scary. I wanted to end this as quickly as possible and get to bed. 

"You little brat!" He wound up and slapped me across the face, hard enough to knock me off my feet. I lay there on the floor, holding my temple, and trying not to cry. 

"Get your little behind up to bed, you hear me?! And no more late nights!" 

I was scared. He was a big guy. For once, I did exactly what he said without complaining. My face hurt. Really bad. But I tried not to think about it as I undressed, got into my pajamas, and crawled into bed. 

Phoebe came over the next morning. She stepped into my room, just as I had finished getting dressed for the day. 

"Good morning, Helga!" Her mouth fell open when she saw my face. I had a huge bruise across my cheek, all the way up to my temple. 

"Wh-what happened, Helga?" 

I turned a deep crimson, then sat down. "I...uh...j-just fell. Last night. Out of bed. Hit my face on the floor. It hurt pretty bad last night, let me tell ya. But it's fine now, no problem." 

I wasn't fooling her. "It was your father again, wasn't it?" I had told Phoebe of one other incident where he had shoved me into the wall in a drunken stupor. She had been concerned enough when it was only one incident, but now she was freaked out. 

"You need to do something, Helga! I mean, he can't do that! It's against the law, you know?!" 

"Pheebs, chill out! It's just a bruise! It's not like he broke my arm or something! Criminey, you're making a mountain out of a mole hill!" 

"I don't think I am, Helga," she replied, then grew strangely quiet about the whole issue. She just dropped it. 

It was a day later that D.C.F.S. came and took me. Apparently Phoebe's parents had called and reported what he had done. And they told them that it wasn't an isolated incident. 

I soon found myself in a tiny, shabby room, which I would be temporarily sharing with two other kids, both several years younger than myself. It wasn't very clean, or friendly-looking. And despite everything that had happened, I wanted more than anything to be home.


	5. New Beginnings?

_Oftentimes in life, we find ourselves in situations that are simply beyond our control. That would be fine, except that I'm a control freak. I need to know that I have complete domination over my surroundings, my friends, my whole life. _

I was angry. Even a little bitter. I shouldn't have been. She was just trying to be a good friend. And I suppose that every TV evangelist and bleeding-heart social worker on the planet would pat her on the back and tell her what a good thing she had done. But I didn't think so. 

Not like it mattered much what I thought. They wouldn't let me leave. I was held in this place against my will. They felt that they had to protect me from myself. I didn't think I was that dangerous, but apparently, they knew better. After all, they had all gone to school for years to learn about me, and how I think and feel. Who better to put me through hell than someone who knew everything about me? 

"Hey Helga, what color should I make this flower?" 

I gritted my teeth and clenched my fists. There was just something about this kid that drove me nuts. 

"I don't know, Megan. Blue," I answered, frustrated at having to answer every mundane question I was being asked. 

"No, I think it looks better purple," she said, and proceeded to color it as such. 

"Geez..." I muttered, then sighed. Two days in this dump and I was already losing my mind. I needed to get out of there. And if that turned out to be an impossibility, then I needed something to do to keep my mind off of everything. 

Megan giggled. She was amusing herself by trying to hit me with wadded up pieces of paper. I closed my eyes and breathed in deeply. I wasn't going to blow up. I refused to blow up. I . . . 

SMACK! Right in the face. 

"Alright, that's it! I'm sick of your crap, all right!? Just knock it off and leave me alone!!" 

Yow. That was harsh. But she wasn't in the least bit offended. 

"You're funny, Helga," she responded cheerfully, then proceeded to run out of the room. 

At least I had a little peace and quiet for a change. It wasn't to last, however, as it wasn't two minutes before Sarah came walking in. 

"Hi Helga," she said, sitting down on her bed, which was situated right next to mine. "Is something wrong?" 

I laughed quietly. "Of course something's wrong! I wouldn't be here if it wasn't, right?" I frowned and kicked back on my bed. It was nice and soft, but I was used to a harder mattress. It bothered my back to lay on that bed for too long. 

She shrugged. "I meant, you know, now. You look kinda ticked off or something..." 

I paused. It really wasn't any of her business. But since she asked... 

"Your stupid sister is bugging the crap out of me. So, yeah. I'm ticked off." 

Sarah smiled and put her hand on my shoulder. "She bugs me, too. She doesn't realize what a pain in the neck she is. She'll grow out of it, I'm sure. . . . I hope so, at least." 

I couldn't help but laugh a little. "You know, for a kid, you're not so bad. How old are you?" 

"Nine," she answered, taking her shoes off and setting them at the foot of the bed. 

"So you're going into fourth grade, then? Or fifth?" I asked. 

"I'm going into fifth." 

"Where did you go to school at?" 

"P.S. 118. Why?" she wondered. 

I smiled warmly, remembering simpler times. Happier times. Then, realizing that Sarah was staring at me, confused, I just laughed. 

"I went there, too." I paused, unsure of whether I should ask or not. I decided I might as well. "Say, I was meaning to ask you. Why are you here? What happened at home?" 

Her countenance fell. I realized I had probably said something wrong. 

"I-if you don't wanna talk about it, that's fine. I'm not gonna explode if you don't tell me. Would you mind hearing about why I'm here?" I asked, figuring it would help break the ice. 

She nodded slowly, almost shyly. 

I smiled. "Well, it's kind of a long story, but I'll skip the boring stuff. Needless to say..." 

Sarah and I talked and talked. We were probably sitting there talking for a good three hours or more. I told her about my rotten life, then she laid it into me with hers. I couldn't decide who had it worse, me or her. I was leaning toward myself, but of course I was partial. 

It felt good, to be able to talk to someone who was going through hell, just like me. It kinda made me feel like I was no longer alone in the world. I mean, yeah, Arnold hated me, my family was made up of a bully and a drug-addict (and a sister who I despise so much as to neglect to even mention her), my life was going nowhere, and I'd be better off dead. But all that didn't matter anymore, since I wasn't the only one. 

The next day, Dr. Bliss came. I had apparently missed our last session, and she had gone through a lot of red tape to track me down. I sort of felt obligated to go with her. I waited in her car while she signed release forms, which forbade her from allowing me to see or have any contact with my family. I wondered what was happening to them right now. Big Bob probably blamed me for telling. I remember once when he told me that Patakis never squeal. We just keep everything bottled up, until the cork blows and we lose our minds. 

"Well, Helga, are you ready to go?" she asked. I jumped. I hadn't even noticed her getting into the car. "I thought we'd stop and get something to eat first. Is McDonald's okay?" 

"Yeah, that's fine," I answered, and reclined my seat. I had a nasty headache at that point, and I really didn't feel like eating, but I didn't want to hurt her feelings. She was going through a lot for me, and I wanted to try and show that I appreciated it. 

"So, you haven't talked to your family at all yet?" she asked as she barely made it through a yellow light. For a psychiatrist, she was a pretty crazy driver. 

"No, not yet. I don't really want to." 

Silence. Then she answered: "You're afraid of what your father will have to say?" 

This lady could read me like a book. 

"Yeah. Do you know if he's in any trouble?" I asked, not really too concerned, but curious nonetheless. 

"No, it doesn't look like he's going to be in any trouble, unless he does it again. You're being sent home in two days." 

It was the best news I'd heard in a long time. My eyes filled up, and I tried desperately not to start crying, but she pretended not to notice. 

"This can't be much fun, can it? No one your age should have to go through so much. Especially when it involves someone you care about as deeply as you do him." 

I laughed. "You think I care about _Bob_?! That's the funniest thing I've ever heard!" 

She shook her head. "No. I meant Arnold. I'm counseling him, now. He's a really good kid. I can see why you like him." 

I raised an eyebrow at her. 

"Sorry. 'Love' him, right?" 

"You know it." 

............ 

I was glad to be going home, despite the kind of welcome I was certain I'd get. I needed some normalcy. I would've done anything--_anything_--to have things back the way they were. 

But my life refused to change back. It kept spinning, out of control, with no idea of where it was headed. And with no regard to my efforts, it kept changing. 

I felt like I was losing my mind, during those weeks. Everything was happening so fast, I couldn't make heads or tails of it. I didn't have anyone, or anything. At least, that's what it felt like. 

And to make matters worse, I was starting high school in a week. Joy of joys... 

Two days came and went--Thank God--and I found myself again in the caring companionship of my family. Ha. 

"Helga, what did you think you were doing?! You wanna get me thrown in jail?! I've got a family to take care of!" 

"Yeah Bob, and you're doing a fine job, too." 

"Don't take that tone of voice with me, young lady!" 

"What are you gonna do, beat me up again?" 

He froze at that. Didn't say another word. He looked at me for a moment, not sure of what to say, then turned and walked into the kitchen. I was a little confused, to say the least. 

I really wanted to talk to somebody. I would've talked to Rhonda, if I'd had the chance. I was that desperate. Instead, I thought I'd drop in on Arnold again, see how he was doing. I was a little surprised. 

"Oh, hi Helga," he said as I walked up the front steps. He was looking down at me from a second floor window. "You wanna come in?" 

Like I said, I was a little surprised. He sounded . . . good. I mean, normal. That was cheering, let me tell you. Normalcy was good. 

"Sure, Arnold. What are you up to?" I asked, realizing I sounded pathetic but not caring too much. 

"Not much, just trying to clean up Oskar's stupid mess. The man is a slob." 

I smiled at him, and he, believe it or not, smiled back at me. Then he came downstairs and opened the front door. I peered into the house and saw Susie upstairs, vacuuming. 

"Come on in. I was just about to make lunch." 

"Thanks," I said, almost shyly. Fortunately, he didn't catch on and simply stepped aside. Susie smiled down at me. 

"Hi there, Helga. Come on upstairs, there's hamburgers and fries waiting. I made extra, since Oskar was supposed to have his poker buddies over today. They didn't show, so it's all yours." 

"Thanks," I said, realizing that all I was doing was saying thanks. I made a note to be more conversational. 

We sat upstairs, over our burgers, awkwardly silent for fifteen minutes before finally, I got the courage to say: 

"So . . ." 

He looked at me, his eyes half-lidded. He didn't look condescending when he did that, like most people do. He looked cute. I suppressed a smile. 

"So . . . what?" he asked, seemingly unaffected by the lack of conversation. He was a pretty laid-back guy, I remembered, so I tried to steer the conversation to something that was current. 

"So you're having sessions with Bliss, huh?" I asked, realizing that this wasn't the most romantic or . . . happy topic to bring up. 

He looked at me, or rather, through me, for a good twenty seconds before he answered. 

"Yep." 

I realized I was touching on a subject I would've been better to leave alone. I tried desperately to switch it to something else. 

"So, we start school next week, huh? Do you know what electives you're going to take?" 

He was silent again for the longest time, then said, "I don't know . . . they say I'm being adopted." 

That was the bombshell of the century. I had no idea what to say. 

Finally, I just sputtered, "Ad-adopted? What do you mean?" 

He looked at me like I was the biggest idiot on the planet, then said, "You know, adopted. Like, brought up by somebody who's not your blood relative." 

"I . . . I know that, but . . . when? Who?" 

"In three days. Some couple from Michigan. They're flying out to pick me up, then we're heading there right away." 

I couldn't help it. I started crying. Right there, in front of him, the boy I had tormented for years and years, the boy I had loved but never dared to show feeling to. I cried my eyes out. He was understandably surprised. 

"H-Helga? What's...what's wrong?" he asked, softening enough that I could see that he was, truly, still the same guy. 

I couldn't stop. I was bawling. He came over and put his hand on my shoulder. I grabbed it and held it tight, afraid that if I let go, he would vanish and I would never see him again. 

"Don't they have to go through an agency or something?" I sputtered, trying to regain control. "They can't just take you, can they?" 

"No, they went through all the legal procedures. It's all fine, legally," he said, though he sounded almost like he was trying to convince himself more than me. 

After a minute or so, I was able to calm down and speak in complete sentences. He sat down across from me again, and held onto my hand. 

"It must be everything, huh?" he asked, concerned. For me. 

"Everything?" I asked. 

"Yeah, you know, everything that's happened to you lately. You're having it rough." 

I almost laughed. "Me, having it rough? I'm having it nowhere near as rough as you are. I'm not crying because _I_ had it rough." 

He raised an eyebrow. "Then why are you so upset?" 

"Because I . . . Look, Arnold, you'd better just hear this now, so that you can move on with your life, and I can move on with mine. You remember, back in . . . what was it, fourth grade? . . . when I told you that I . . . you know, liked you. And then I said I made it up to get under your skin? Remember?" 

He hesitated, then: "I remember." 

"Arnold. Look at me." He was kind of staring blankly off to one side. I wanted his attention focused on me, for at least a little while. "I . . . man, whoever would've though something like this would be so hard to say, huh?" 

He looked at me differently now, like he was beginning to understand. 

"I know I'm not the nicest, or the smartest, or the best-looking girl in the world . . . heck, you couldn't probably do any worse than me. You deserve someone so much more attractive, intelligent, kind, and everything . . . I mean, someone better than me." 

He was no longer looking at me, but was staring down at his half-eaten burger. 

I continued. "But for what it's worth . . . I love you. I always have. Whether you've ever wanted to give me the time of day or not, that's how it is." 

I stared at him, obviously expecting some kind of response. Instead, he stood and walked out of the room, then down the stairs, and then out the door. I haven't seen him since. 

Apparently he came back after I had left and packed some of his things. He told Susie that he had to leave. To get himself together. She didn't know what that means. Neither do I. 

Is that where my story ends? I hope not. I mean, so much has already happened, but my one desire is to see him again, to talk to him again. To, at the very least, be his friend. I don't know where he's at, or what he's doing. His adoptive parents have no clue either, nor does Susie or Bliss or anyone. For all I know, he could be laying dead in some dark alley, or he could be drunk at some underworld hangout. 

What I do know is that my feelings haven't changed. And even though I know it was my feelings that pushed him over the edge--at least, I'm pretty sure they did--I refuse to let my feelings change. 

They're the only thing that hasn't. 

The End


	6. A Note from the Author...

Hey, just thought I'd drop this in really quick to explain some things. I don't want everyone to hate me for ending the story like that. Yes, I have a sequel in the works. I'm in the planning stages now. I'm deciding whether to keep my narrative the same, or switch characters. I'm probably going to keep it the same. I've always liked Helga. 

This last chapter was difficult for me to write and still keep everyone in character. Arnold's pretty laid-back and non-confrontational, but he has to have a breaking point, too. That was the point I was trying to make. He'd reached his wits' end. And when you're only fourteen and you hit that, you know you've got problems. 

So, suffice it to say, there's a sequel on the way. I'll try and have a chapter up in a day or two. Thanks for the reviews, and keep writing. 

Branden Johnson (Lambogod)


End file.
